Zero
by Uncle Lupin
Summary: A new graduate of Hogwarts learns the consequences of keeping magic a secret from muggles.
1. Emptiness is Loneliness

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. The number of Harry Potters I own is zero and zero is the number of Harry Potters I own. I do not own one Harry Potter, nor do I own negative one Harry Potter, excepting that I proceed to zero Harry Potters. Two is right out. Thanks to the Smashing Pumpkins for the story and chapter titles.  
  
My first fanfic. I decided not to use many Harry Potter characters but set it in his world, which I will use more later on in the story. Think I should take over for J.K. Rowling? Think I should be executed in the most painful way possible within the next thirty seconds? Somewhere in between? Tell me!  
  
1 Zero  
  
1.1 Chapter 1: Emptiness is Loneliness  
  
John got off the Hogwarts express for the last time and muscled his cart through a crowd of newly graduated seventh years hugging and crying. Several people called out to him but he pretended not to hear. John knew he would look snobbish and leave a bad parting impression, but he didn't care.  
  
He rolled his cart to the local transit section of King's Cross and piled his belongings into a large locker. John rifled his bag for some Muggle money and went to buy a ticket for the London Underground. When the train came, he got on and took hold of a bar between and old woman who smelled of cat food and kid with a leather jacket and red spiked hair.  
  
John glanced over at the map. St. Martha's was five stops away. He stared at the walls rushing by outside as his mind turned, as it had so many times during the last week, to Rebecca. He had known she was sick, but not this bad. He had become increasingly silent and withdrawn since he heard she was in critical condition. He hadn't been able to enjoy graduation or the week of wild partying that had preceded it.  
  
The train screeched to a halt at John's station and he trudged to the escalator. He took a grubby piece of parchment from his pocket and read: east 2 blocks, north one, and St. Martha's room 318. He took two wrong turns thinking about the times he and Rebecca had sat up in her tree house pelting Josh next door with water balloons. She had been his best Muggle friend as long as he could remember, and she cried when he received his letter for Hogwarts. They had spent a month of afternoons in John's basement hatching complex schemes to smuggle Rebecca into Hogwarts, too. John's magic had not been a problem, and they spent every summer together. They kissed experimentally a few times, but decided that they knew each other too well to be in love.  
  
The hospital doors slid open when he approached, and John caught himself trying to figure out what spell they had used before reminded himself it was only an electric eye. When he left Rebecca last summer, she was a bright, vibrant girl of seventeen whose only worries about the future were the upcoming soccer season and deciding which colleges to apply to. She had occasional migraines, but they weren't really affecting her.  
  
The sign said that rooms 300-320 were on the left, and John was stopped by the duty nurse when he walked by her desk. He cleared his throat and said, "I'd like to see Rebecca Conover, please."  
  
This nurse looked down at the clipboard. "Ms. Conover's in intensive care. Only members of her immediate family are allowed to visit, Mr.-?"  
  
"Dennison" said John.  
  
"John Dennison?" asked the nurse.  
  
"Yes." John replied, confused.  
  
"Well," said the nurse, not sounding too happy about it, "you seem to be the exception. She asked to see you. It's the second to last room on the left."  
  
"Thanks." John said briefly and walked slowly toward the room. It was dim when he opened the door. Rebecca lay under spotless white sheets in a bed in the center. She looked much smaller than he remembered. Dozens of tubes and wires ran to and from her body. There were more machines in the tiny room than most people had in their houses. "Hi" he ventured.  
  
"John." She said simply, without opening her eyes. "How was.. Hogwarts?"  
  
"Fine." He said lamely. It wasn't of course, but that didn't matter. He touched Rebecca's hand and her eyes flew open.  
  
"John!" she said, as if seeing him for the first time "What's wrong.. with me?"  
  
"Nothing," he said unsteadily. "You're going to be okay."  
  
She grinned slightly. "Bullshit. I.. wish you knew.. some kind of.. spell for this."  
  
John considered for a minute and decided she might need something to hope for. It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing. "Maybe I can find one." He said. "I have an appointment at the Ministry of Magic tomorrow and I-"  
  
She laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound. "What are.. you going.. to do?" she asked. "Abra.. cadabra.. brain tumor.. gonicus?" She waved the tubes trailing from her like a wand.  
  
John shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "Save your strength," he said.  
  
Rebecca turned to look at him. "For.. what?"  
  
John muttered a goodbye and backed slowly out of the door. When he was off the ward, he bolted down the stairs and made it outside the door just in time to vomit into the bushes. 


	2. Loneliness is Cleanliness

Chapter Two: Loneliness is Cleanliness  
  
The meeting with the Head of the Improper Use of Magic that Dumbledore had gotten him was a thousand to one chance, John knew, but maybe if he could plead his case effectively enough..  
  
John had gone to Dumbledore's office the minute he heard about Rebecca, and watched Dumbledore sit impassively behind his desk as John fervently asked for help. "I may be only a muggle-born, but I've never heard of a wizard younger than a hundred to die naturally." He had said. "I don't know much about magical medicine, but I know that wizards are able to cure muggle diseases. I need you to help me."  
  
"John," Dumbledore sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose "I know what's its like to lose a friend. But we can't just have a Muggle miraculously recover from an inoperable brain tumor. It would be too suspicious. We can't risk revealing ourselves."  
  
"Professor," John said through clenched teeth. "It happens all the time! They have shows about it on cable, for God's sake!"  
  
"That's usually just because of a misdiagnosis. Although sometimes," Dumbledore admitted "we do intervene. It is only in extraordinary circumstances when the muggle's death will have a great impact on future events."  
  
John had walked to the side of the room and was staring out the window. "What you're saying," he said, barely keeping himself under control, "is that my friend isn't important, so it's okay for her to die, right?"  
  
"John!" Dumbledore said, a little too quickly, "It's not like that. The decision isn't mine. This is a rule from the ministry. You don't realize how important-"  
  
"Tell me the spell." John said suddenly. "I'll do it myself! If I have to live as a muggle, I don't care. It doesn't even have to be a spell. Tell me some plant or potion I can use, that's not really even magic. Nobody would know."  
  
"That's not the point. The Ministry would know." Dumbledore said quietly. "They'd put you in Azkaban."  
  
Rage flared in John's eyes. "Azkaban? They'd put me with murderers because I tried to save a friend's life?"  
  
"You don't realize important it is to keep our existence a secret," said Dumbledore. "It wouldn't just be muggles asking for help with their problems-"  
  
"Problems?" John roared. "I think a brain tumor is a little more than a problem!"  
  
"Listen," said Dumbledore. "It wouldn't just be people asking for solutions to their problems. We have too much power for muggles to deal with. Imagine if wizards were drawn in to one of their wars. Hundreds of thousands of people could die."  
  
"You're telling me what could happen," said John. "I telling you what will happen. Rebecca is going to die if she doesn't get magical help."  
  
"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said. "It is fated. Death isn't as you think it is, John."  
  
John put is hands on Dumbledore's desk and looked him in the eyes. He asked, "How can you be sure of that?"  
  
Dumbledore lowered his eyes. "I can't"  
  
"Thanks for nothing," said John bitterly, starting to leave.  
  
"Wait," said Dumbledore. "I can get you an appointment with the head of the Improper use of Magic office. You can take it up with him. I can't do anything more."  
  
John nodded, accepting Dumbledore's proposal. As he walked out of the room, John said in a deadly quiet voice "'Can't,' Dumbledore? Or 'won't'?" 


	3. Cleanliness is Godliness

1 Chapter 3: Cleanliness is Godliness  
  
(A/N: How do you get rid of these numbers at the top?)  
  
John tried to maintain his optimism as he approached the Merlin building, which contained the main offices of the Ministry of Magic. The meeting with Dumbledore hadn't been encouraging, and he didn't even know this, John looked at the card, Swift person. But he told himself that anyone would listen if he stated his case well enough.  
  
Walking in the lobby, John noticed that some spell had vaporized the dirt off his boots before he walked on the solid gold floor. He wondered how many poor people that floor would feed. He had been thinking about things like that a lot lately.  
  
The walls under the vaulted ceiling were filled with paintings of famous wizards. He saw two wizards in paint-splattered robes arguing while the figure they were painting looked bored. Even though the top of his head hadn't been painted on yet, John recognized Harry Potter. They had been in the same house at Hogwarts, but John was a few years older and they didn't talk much. He seemed like a nice enough sort, though. John bet that Potter, with all his fame, never had to deal with crap like this.  
  
He walked up to an oak panel on the wall and said the password on the card.  
  
It slid aside to reveal a set of randomly moving stone steps. John sighed and began to climb. Wizards seemed to like to use at least eight spells for something that required twenty pounds worth of muggle hardware. John recognized that he was just trying to stop thinking about Rebecca, and pushed the thought aside so he could concentrate on his argument. He knew it was good, and if he presented it in a calm, logical manner, Swift would have to listen.  
  
The door at the top of the stairs swung open to a richly appointed office where all the furniture was covered with red dragon hide. A bald, sweaty looking man sat behind a massive desk.  
  
"John!" said the man who could only be Swift. "Come in and take a load off." John always found it sleazy when people he had never met before addressed him like an old friend. He was too wired to sit down, and instead stood in front of the desk.  
  
"So, John," said Swift. "Dumbledore tells me you're at the top of your class. Maybe you'll be after my job soon." He followed this with a very loud, fake laugh. "How are you doing?"  
  
"I'm fine," said John, "but my friend isn't. You see she-"  
  
"Oh," interrupted Swift, "a man who doesn't like to beat around the bush. I admire that. I've never been one for small talk, so I thank you for not requiring it. I'll return the favor by getting right down to business." He slid a form letter across the desk. "This is a letter rejecting your request. You can fill in the details yourself, if you feel it necessary."  
  
John was too stunned to be angry. "Rejection? But I haven't even told you-"  
  
"I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking," interrupted Swift. "He surely couldn't have thought I would break the rules for some muggle. That man is entirely too naïve for his station."  
  
The powerful countercurses that pervaded the building were the only thing that kept John from cursing Swift right there. "I'm only asking for one spell! My best friend is dying! Let me tell you about her, she's-"  
  
"I'm not interested in your maudlin little descriptions, Mr. Dennison," said Swift. "Policy says no magical aid for muggles without extraordinary circumstances. I wish I could help you, but I'm bound by policy."  
  
"Who made the policy?" John yelled, gripping the front of the desk. "I'll talk to him!"  
  
"I did, of course," replied Swift, without a trace of irony. "Now leave my office, I have another appointment."  
  
John screamed and tore the blotter off the desk. He threw it against the wall and the inkbottle shattered, spraying its contents on the dragon hide wallpaper. Swift sighed, took out his wand, and teleported John outside the building.  
  
The pager on John's belt started to vibrate when he found himself outside. He was still pissed at Swift, but he also vaguely thankful for muggle technology when he looked down at the message. REBECCA DYING. SHE WANTS YOU. John didn't know if he could calm down enough to apparate.  
  
Swift said a few words and the objects on his desk flew back into place. He made a note to have the aurors watch that Dennison kid. Some people could snap over anything.. 


End file.
